In the cold light of day
by YoukaiNemisis
Summary: What about the tales of the other people in Storybrooke? Those who aren't kings and queens, imps and dragons... Peasants, guards, bakers, millers... Here are a few stories I hope get told in the season to come.
1. Chapter 1

When the curse was broken and her memories returned, she was afraid. Afraid that everyone would know who she was; what she'd done, and punish her for it now she was powerless. Then the purple smoke rolled over the town, filling her lungs, filling her blood, and she knew it was magic, pure and simple, and she wasn't afraid any more. Sure, it would take a little while to learn to wield it, but didn't she have time? And yet... And yet there was something she needed, something she craved, and there was only one place in town she would be able to find it...

The shop bell tinkles merrily as she walks through the door, head held high as she scans the dim interior. He's there, behind the counter, as she knew he'd be. Dressed now in Armani instead of dragonskin, he still manages to exude an aura of menace and magic. She swallows hard, then makes her choice – she'll try courtesy before antagonism. Hell, she'll beg if she has to. She dips in an elegant curtsey, inclining her head in respect to the creature behind the flimsy wooden case.

"Mr. Gold," she says, "or should I call you..?" He waves a hand, brushing the question aside, and smiles his predatory smile.

"Hello, dearie. I thought I'd be seeing you." She rises from her curtsey and approaches him, allowing her hunger to fill her eyes.

"Do you have it?" The imp chuckles, and she has to smile ruefully. "Silly question, yes?"

"You know what the real question is, Lark." She swallows again, hearing her true name from his lips.

"What do you want for it?" He laughs again and a cold sweat forms on the back of her neck.

"You traded it to me, fair and square, dearie, in exchange for your life."

"I know," she snaps. "But what do you want now? I'll -" She bites her tongue to stop herself uttering the words 'I'll give you anything.' That was what got her into this mess in the first place. He gives a mock frown, tapping those long fingers on the glass counter in front of him.

"What do I want, what do I want... How about we start with your life, dearie?"

"What use is it to me if I'm dead?" she demands, horrified to hear the brittleness in her voice. That laugh sounds again, and she can't fight down a shiver.

"Oh, no, dearie, I don't want your death. I want your life. When you lose your job, you'll come to work for me. Forever."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know this town and the people who live in it. That's my offer, Lark. Take it or leave it." He lifts a wooden case, a little longer than her forearm, from a hidden shelf under the register and rests it on the counter, one hand resting possessively on the carved top. She can't help it, she's drawn forwards a few steps before she regains control of herself.

She gnaws at her bottom lip, and blurts out, "I want to see it." Gold inclines his head and pops the catch on the box. It opens to reveal a plush velvet interior and a gleam of silver. Her breath leaves her in a sigh and she reaches out to touch it. Gold's hand closes around her wrist before she can make contact.

"Until you agree, it's still mine, remember?" She closes her eyes, her nerves screaming that she pull away from his grasp, pull away now and run, but the allure of the object in the box proves too much.

"If I lose my job, I'll come to work for you." Her voice is tiny and frail in the dimness of the shop, and Gold nods, releasing her wrist.

"The deal is struck," he says, snapping the box closed and pushing it across the counter towards her. "Use it in good health, dearie." She snatches up the box and spins, racing for the exit. His parting comment, a wish for her to have a nice day, echoes in her ears as she flees.

"Gods, what have I done?" she asks herself in a whisper as she sinks down on a park bench, but even the idea of working for Rumplestiltskin forever can't wipe the small, tender smile from her face as she opens the box and looks lovingly at the shiny silver flute nestled within.


	2. Chapter 2

They had obviously made their plans to meet outside the pawnshop at opening time and just as Rumplestiltskin is flipping the sign he sees them. He knows who they are - how could he not? He lifts a hand in acknowledgement as he unlocks the door and limps back towards the counter at the rear of the room. The bell jingles, and he forces himself not to look back.

"I'll be right with you... ladies." He moves into the back of the shop, and Belle looks up from her cup of tea. He considers pressing a finger to his lips to signal silence and sighs, knowing it is useless. "Belle, please wait in here for a moment, alright?" Rumplestiltskin lowers himself to the floor and pulls out a large case, covered in dust. He swears he can hear a muffled chorus of giggles as he rises and dusts off his knees and adjusts his jacket. Then he straightens his shoulders, lifts the case and returns to the shop.

"You would protect her from us? Why, Rumplestiltskin, how... unexpectedly sweet. It makes us think better of you." Rumplestiltskin places the case carefully on the counter and gives a deep, formal bow. He must tread very, very carefully with these women. They would know everything, _everything_ about him.

"I have read that it is... unwise to bring oneself to the attention of... you ladies." The women in the shop give another chorus of giggles, and he takes the time to study them. Three women, all of various ages. One is very young, not yet really out of girlhood, all rosy cheeks and dancing eyes. Another is middle aged, plump and kind looking; and the third is an old woman with a stoop to her shoulders and long white hair. It is the old one who speaks again.

"And yet you did, Rumplestiltskin. So one must wonder, is it bravery, or something else?" Rumplestiltskin inclines his head.

"Charity, ladies. These items came into my possession and I..." He thinks hard, and offers them truth. "No man should hold this power." The middle aged one comes forward, and he is shocked when she lays a palm against his cheek and smiles.

"No man ever does." She lowers her hand and unbuckles the lid of the case. The other two come forwards as well, and lift the items lovingly from the worn and battered box. The youngest takes a distaff spindle, the oldest a pair of shears, leaving a string with knots tied in it at regular intervals for the last. He can _feel_ it, when they take possession of the items again, and he swallows, hard, at the magic that fills the shop, thick enough to drown in. The eldest speaks again.

"In thanks for this service, we offer you this. We shall see for you, if you wish it." He chokes on a laugh.

"You're offering me a wish?" The women laugh again.

"We don't do that," the youngest says. "And you know it. You know what we offer. Take it up as you like, Rumplestiltskin." He has to grab the counter to stay upright when the oldest meets his eyes. She does not speak, but a world of knowledge, of power, of _magic_, is in her gaze. Then she walks out, followed by the middle aged woman. The youngest pauses at the door, tilting her head as she gazes at the curtain separating the shop from the rear office.

"Be steadfast, and be true to your heart, Rumplestiltskin," she advises him. "Therein will lie your happy ending." Then she is gone, the shop bell tinkling merrily as the door closes. He staggers through to the back and slumps in a chair, putting his head in his shaking hands. He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. Belle sinks to her knees beside him, concern in her face, and he knows it isn't concern about their ruined breakfast date.

"Are you alright?" she asks. He makes that noise again.

"Compared to what?"

"Who were they?" He shakes his head.

"No names, Belle, I won't speak their names. But..." He swallows. "But I think Storybrooke isn't going to know what hit it if those three get going." He shudders. "I just hope that... _he_... didn't come over, too." He gives a twisted smile. "It would give new life to the old saying about all Hell breaking loose." He tries a genuine smile for her and fails. "I'm sorry, Belle, can we do this another day? I'm just not..." She nods, but he can tell she doesn't really understand, and he doesn't have the words to explain, not yet.

"I'll be at the library if you... If you want to talk." Then she's gone, and he's left alone with a heady mix of terror and awe and fascination, and in the privacy of his mind, he thinks, _Clotho, __Lachesis__ and Atropos... Welcome to Storybrooke. And may the gods have mercy on us all._


	3. Chapter 3

Mary-Anne can't believe she can finally do this. She stands on the pavement under a small elegant sign that simply reads 'Sasha's Bridal'. Under it, in even smaller letters, it proclaims that all fittings are by appointment only. She marches up to the door, book under one arm, and the bell tinkles merrily and tastefully as she enters. The woman, Sasha Cook, looks up from behind the counter, and frowns as she takes in Mary-Anne's rumpled appearance. "May I help you?" she asks, distaste dripping from her voice. Mary-Anne can't help but smile.

"No, but I can help you." She slides the book across the counter. "I want a job. And you're going to give me one." For the past twenty eight years she's been living the delusion that she's a trust fund baby. Now, now she can actually _work_ again. The woman perches the glasses that hang around her neck on a fine gold chain upon her nose and opens the book. By the second page she's absorbed, making little noises under her breath.

"These are amazing designs," Ms. Cook says. "Were you... _Are_ you a seamstress?" Pride lifts Mary-Anne's chin.

"I am a _couturier." _ _And I miss it, with all my heart. _"I've worked for most of the royals and nobles of the kingdom. It was an honour to have clothing designed and worked by my hands." Ms. Cook is a little taken aback by the vehemence in Mary-Anne's voice, but she gives a thoughtful nod.

"Alright. You can start a trial here, if you like." Mary-Anne snorts.

"No. You'll hire me, at forty percent over minimum, with a five - no, make that _ten_ percent commission on every sale."

"Full of yourself, aren't you?" Ms. Cook snaps, her spine straightening.

"Trust me. Put one of those designs in the window and you'll have more custom than you can handle. Do we have a deal?" She offers her hand, and, with a sour expression, Ms. Cook shakes it. "Right. Now. Where do I learn how to use a sewing machine?" Ms. Cook blinks, then gives a high laugh.

"You don't know how to use one?"

"I've been one of the idle rich for the past twenty eight years. I can sew by hand, but I'm pretty sure you'll want something by the end of the day." She is almost dancing with impatience to get started.

"Alright," the other woman replies, then flicks back through the book. She leaves it open at a page and points. "I want this. The machines are in the back. Come on." Mary-Anne picks up the book and follows her, glancing down at Ms. Cook's selection. Of course. Snow White's wedding gown. As they pass through the swinging doors, Mary-Anne smiles in anticipation.

Three days later, the windows of the shop hold not one, but three of her gowns – ones she originally designed for Snow White, Cinderella and the one her mother had designed for Regina's wedding to King Leopold. She'd had to argue with Ms. Cook to make that one. Sasha Cook didn't believe that it was appropriate, but Mary-Anne had the bit between her teeth, so to speak, and won the argument by sheer volume. It is late evening, and Mary-Anne is just leaving when she bumps into a young man standing on the pavement with a dazed expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," she begins to apologise, and then she recognises him. It's David Nolan, or Prince James, what ever he wants to be called, and he's staring at the feathery, sleeveless gown with an expression filled with such love, longing and hope that Mary-Anne's heart breaks for him. She mutters another apology and turns to go as she sees a single tear track down his cheek, leaving the man alone with his thoughts and his grief.

"Wait," he calls after her. "I remember you. You made this, for Snow. You made a suit for me, too, for our... Our day."

"Yes, I did," she replies. He turns his eyes back to the window, and his voice is soft as he speaks to the glass.

"Did you ever see a more beautiful bride?" Mary-Anne smiles.

"I think that wasn't just the dress, your Highness."

"Will you... Will you keep it? For her? For when I find her and bring her back?" Mary-Anne smiles again and dares to gently pat his arm.

"No one else will wear that dress but your wife. I promise." Ms. Cook was going to scream, but Mary-Anne will pay for it herself if need be, if only to keep that little spark alive in James' eyes. He nods, and swipes away the tear.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Highness."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Rating goes up for this chapter, kids, to K+ for alcohol and swearing. -YN**_

Mike lifts the shot glass filled with clear liquid. "Saturday football!" The other men around the table cheer and they all drink. Piotr goes next, selecting from the many, many filled shots on the table.

"Government assistance that _doesn't_ involve sharp pointy objects!" They cheer, they drink. A familiar, feminine voice intrudes.

"You guys look like you're having fun," and when he turns, there she is. Ruby. Dressed in a slinky black dress tied with red ribbons, looking delicious as always.

"Ruby!" the guys all cry, and, laughing, Mike takes another shot with them.

"Guys, can I introduce you to Belle?" Ruby takes a little step aside and gestures, revealing a young woman dressed in something blue and pretty. She's got reddish hair, the shade they call chestnut, Mike thinks, and a pair of eyes that sparkle somewhere between blue and green. "You have to be nice; this is her first time here. Belle, these are the crew of the _Gallant_, Mike, Piotr, Max, Brian and Will. You'll never find a nicer bunch of fishermen." The men laugh and nod to the newcomer.

"What are you doing?" Belle asks curiously.

"It's a drinking game," Mike tells her seriously. "We're drinking to all the things we'll miss if we... Well, if we go back. If you agree with what the person says, you have to drink a shot."

"Come join us," Piotr invites. "C'mon, Ruby, you know you want to."

"Um, I don't think-" Ruby starts, but Belle interrupts her.

"Sure," she says, stepping up to the table and squaring her shoulders. "Can I have a turn?"

"Okay," Will grins, moving to make room for her. "What do you want to drink to?" Belle lifts one of the tiny glasses and grins back.

"Indoor plumbing." They laugh, they cheer, they drink. Belle gasps, chokes, and Will thumps her on the back good-naturedly. "What is that stuff?" she manages.

"Vodka," Max tells her. "Never had it before?" Belle shakes her head, but reaches out and grabs another shot glass.

"Your turn, Ruby," she encourages. Ruby gives a little frown, then shrugs and steps up. A wicked smile blooms across her oh-so-kissable mouth.

"Effective contraceptives." The bar rocks to the sound of their laughter as they drink again.

"Nascar!" cries Brian, and the evening continues. As the night wears on, Mike endears himself to Belle when he admits that in his former life he was the royal archivist and curator of the royal library. This precipitates an offer of work a few days a week at the library that she's just reopened, an offer he accepts readily.

At a later point, Mike and Ruby help Belle to sit in a booth, and Mike sits across from her as Ruby goes to get the young woman some water. Belle watches him watch Ruby, and she gives a drunken smile.

"You love her, don't you?" she asks bluntly. Mike smiles back.

"Yeah, I guess I do, and I have for a while. Am I that obvious?" Belle shakes her head, then gives a little groan.

"Shouldn't do that," she mumbles. "But no, not obvious. Not to everyone. I think." She groans again. "Why is the world spinning?"

"That isn't the world, pretty girl, it's just you," Mike chuckles. Ruby is back with the water, and they encourage her to drink it in little sips. By the end of the first glass, Belle is looking a little better, and Ruby gives Mike a wry smile.

"I should've thought twice about getting her into a drinking game with sailors on her first night out." She sits down beside Mike and pats the other woman's hand gently. "Sorry, Belle." Belle shakes her chestnut curls, and this time she doesn't groan.

"My idea, Ruby. Besides, I think... I think it helped." She squeezes Ruby's hand and they share a secret smile. "But I think I should go home."

"Can you help us, Mike?" Ruby asks.

"As if I could say no to you," he replies fondly, smiling at her. "Let me get our coats. It's bloody cold out there." The trio exit, keeping Belle upright between them. They get halfway back to Granny's before Belle has to stop and bring the vodka back up. In the end, Mike simply picks her up and carries her the rest of the way. Between him and Ruby, they get her into her room, and he backs out, blushing, when Ruby begins to remove Belle's clothing. But he can't leave yet; he waits at the top of the stairs, and his patience is rewarded when Ruby returns.

"Thanks, Mike," she says, leaning against the wall beside him.

"Welcome," he tells her, mesmerised as always by her beauty. "Are you coming back to the bar?"

"Nah, better not," Ruby replies, sighing. "I've got the breakfast shift tomorrow." Mike nods, accepting this.

"Well, I'll see you another day, then."

"Sure," she says, and then she's leaning towards him, and he feels her lips touch his cheek before she's yawning and walking away, waving one hand over her shoulder. He reaches up a hand and hesitantly touches it. He can still feel her warmth against his skin, and it feels better than anything he's ever felt before. Mike smiles, and walks back downstairs, letting himself out the front door. It's been a good night, and he breathes in the crisp, cool air before he starts his own walk home.

"Nice night, isn't it?" a voice says, and he jumps, yelps, spins around. Stepping from a patch of shadow is Mr. Gold, _Mr. bloody Gold_, and if Mike thought it was cold before, it's nothing to the frost in the other man's face as those dark eyes stare right through him.

"M-Mr. Gold, what are you doing here?" he manages, one hand pressed to his chest to try and still the thundering of his heart.

"I was looking for you," Gold replies, and Mike almost swallows his tongue.

"M-me? What did I do?" Gold smiles his shark's smile.

"I was watching you tonight. And I warn you – I'm not someone you want to cross, Michael. I am not a forgiving man when someone threatens what is mine. Stay away from her." Mike blinks, his alcohol muddled mind not working fast enough.

"But I love her," he drunkenly admits. Gold moves, and suddenly Mike is shoved against the wall of the inn, Gold's cane across his throat. "And Ruby likes me, too," he gasps past the pressure on his neck.

"Ruby?" Gold says, frowning. "_Ruby_?" He lowers the cane, and Mike slides down the wall, coughing. "I see." And he then turns and limps away.

"What the fuck-!" Mike moans, rubbing his throat. The pain and adrenaline are clearing the alcoholic fog from his mind, and he groans. "Belle. Gold has a thing for Belle. Fuck me." He picks himself up, and only then remembers Belle's offer of a job. He'll have to turn her down – Gold scares the hell out of him. But how is he going to explain it? _Sorry, pretty girl, I can't work here because your crazy stalker will skin me alive!_ Rubbing his head, Mike makes it back to Main Street and continues his walk home. _Maybe Ruby will be able to help me out._ The thought makes him smile, and when he finally tumbles into his narrow bed, he's still smiling and remembering the softness of Ruby's lips on his cheek.


End file.
